


Won't Wait Much Longer

by Captain_Loki



Series: If You Wait For It [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Cooking, First Date, Fluff, Kissing, M/M, and not even at all suave, derek likes him anyway, he's actually a spaz, stiles is actually neurotic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-24
Updated: 2012-10-24
Packaged: 2017-11-16 22:44:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/544658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Captain_Loki/pseuds/Captain_Loki
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“It is not a date!” Stiles shouts. “I just asked him over and offered to cook for him…” Stiles stops and thinks, “and also explicitly pointed out how my father wasn’t going to be home all night and oh my God I asked Derek Hale out on a date!” Stiles exclaims with sudden dawning realization.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Won't Wait Much Longer

He’d imagined it would be a bit epic, a life or death heat of the moment kind of thing, but mostly it just sort of happens in the cereal aisle of the grocery store. Stile’s is reaching for a box of granola bars and the lady beside him sneezes, loudly. Stiles fights werewolves on a regular basis but this sends him jumping, arms flailing, and he watches with abject sort of horror as the stack of cereal boxes in the next aisle fall over.

“Oomf—what the!” A strangled yell sounds from behind the shelf and Stiles shrieks and dodges around the aisle.

“I’m so sorry, dude!” He shouts, prepared to be completely apologetic and as aww shucks as he can manage. But when the man straightens up Stiles recognizes the broad shoulders and messy spikes and he scowls.

“Oh, Derek…” his body relaxes. “What are you doing here?” He asks suddenly, fixing Derek with a pensive stare. Derek just gives him this look Stiles thinks could spark spontaneous combustion.

“I don’t know Stiles,” Derek sighs, “doing recon.”

“Oh yeah?” And Stiles isn’t entirely sure whether or not Derek is kidding because it’s _Derek_.

“I do need to eat you know, Stiles.”

“Well… _yeah_ ,” Stiles laughs, and Derek gives him another look because Stiles doesn’t sound particularly convincing. Derek tosses the box of Rice Crispies into his cart. Stiles isn’t sure what to do with this information. He’s trying to picture the werewolf pouring milk over his cereal in the morning and something in him breaks down the way it usually does whenever he thinks about the concept of an infinite universe.

“Whoa,” he shouts, shaking the feeling away and catching site of the contents of the cart. “Really? Ramen and hotpockets?” Stiles chastises, it’s sort of an automatic response now, every time his father does the shopping and Stiles is forced to confiscate the junk foods he’s tried to sneak in.

“Do werewolves even have microwaves?” Stiles asks and Derek rolls his eyes. Stiles picks up one of the boxes and turns it over.

“You do know this is like…crusted cancer right?” Stiles asks, because he’s trying to be helpful. Derek just growls at him, unappreciatively, and smacks the package back into his cart. Stiles thinks he’s actually flushing a bit.

“You should let me cook for you,” Stiles says, grasping at his own cart and following after Derek as he heads away. Derek stops and Stiles slides up alongside him, blocking the rest of the aisle.

“What?” Derek sounds surprised, and he looks Stiles up and down like he’s trying to find a wire.

“Yeah, tonight!” Stiles shouts, excitedly. He grabs the box of barilla elbow macaroni in his cart and holds it up. “I’m making buffalo chicken mac and cheese!” Derek looks at him speculatively.

“You want to cook for me?” Derek asks, like he’s not sure he understands the concept.

“Yes…cook. Food go in oven, food come out hot, eat food. Yum Yum,” Stiles mimes deadpan. Derek scowls at him again, his brows furrowing in confusion.

“C’mon, my dad won’t be home tonight,” Stiles says. It’s not unusual and Stiles usually cooks for two and eats at the kitchen counter while he does his homework, or catches the end of _Law and Order_ repeats on TNT. Stiles looks at him expectantly, the hint of a smile creeping up the corners of his mouth. He waggles the box of macaroni.

“Yeah…sure, okay.” Derek says finally, a small sigh of resignation and a curt nod.

“Awesome!” Stiles tosses the macaroni back and claps his hands. Truth be told he’s glad at the prospect of company, it’s been all late shift nights this week. “Six’o’clock, Hale!” Stiles demands, pointing at Derek and moving around him on a quest for cheese.

~*~

“What do you guys want to do for dinner?” Scott asks, looking at Stiles and Allison upside down where he hangs off the couch. Allison just sort of grins fondly at him in a way that has Stiles rolling his eyes while ignoring the obvious pang of jealousy in the way they drag each other in for a sloppy Spiderman kiss.

“We could order pizza?” Allison suggests, looking to Stiles. It’s quarter to five, Stiles notes, and he shakes head.

“I’m cooking dinner tonight for Derek,” Stiles says and Allison’s expression goes blank and Scott rolls over to look at him properly. “You guys can stay if you want I bought plenty…” Stiles trails off when Allison smirks and catches Scott’s gaze. They have a silent conversation and Stiles is annoyed and a little jealous all over again because Scott is _his_ silent conversation partner _god damn it_ (even if it was admittedly sometimes two entirely separate conversations) _._

“What?” He asks, irritated.

“You’re cooking for Derek?” Allison asks with a grin.

“Yeah?” Stiles responds.

“Then it might be a bit awkward of we’re there,” Allison says like he’s a bit slow, Stiles’ face betrays his confusion. Scott is trying hard not to laugh. “Seeing as how it’s your first date and all?” Allison clarifies with a sympathetic sort of smirk. Stiles balks.

“What?!” He shouts, horrified, his face contorting in many varied expressions of disgust, confusion, and fear. Allison just laughs like she pities him.

“It is _not_ a date!” Stiles shouts. “I just asked him over and offered to cook for him…” Stiles stops and thinks, “and also explicitly pointed out how my father wasn’t going to be home all night and oh my _God_ I asked Derek Hale out on a date!” Stiles exclaims with sudden dawning realization. Allison looks like Christmas has come early but Scott looks confused and concerned. Stiles’ eyes widen with epiphany.

“Oh my _God_ he said yes!” Stiles shouts, and it comes out pitchy and desperate, his eyes wide. He wishes Scott would stop looking at him like that.

“Your face is saying no but your scent is saying yes,” Scott says, a little deflated. Stiles stares at him, alarmed.

“Oh _God_ ,” he cries. There’s a long awkward silence that descends between them. Stiles breaks it by slamming his head against his coffee table. Allison jumps.

“What the hell do I wear?”

~*~

Stiles spends way too long standing in front of his closet and wondering if he should just climb inside it and hide until Derek comes and leaves. He thinks idly how that wouldn’t work because Derek would sniff him out or something and then he’d have to awkwardly explain what he was doing in his closet smelling like affection or arousal or whatever it was that Scott was talking about.

His skin is rubbed red and he hopes he smells of Irish Spring body wash instead. Then he panics for a moment wondering if Derek even knows if this is a date and if he doesn’t he’ll probably be wondering why Stiles suddenly showered for him.

Oh God Stiles _showered_ for him. Is this a date?

He grabs the least wrinkled jeans he can find and pulls on a red long sleeved t-shirt he knows is a little bit too small because the last time he wore it Erica had grinned a bit and reminded him of that crush she once had.

He thinks it makes his shoulders look broader. Does Derek like broad shoulders? Cos up until recently he was pretty sure Derek liked boobs. Stiles doesn’t think he could swing that by six.

Stiles shoves his feet into a pair of sneakers hastily and makes his way to the kitchen to start prepping for dinner. When the doorbell rings about fifteen minutes later he throws the colander across the room in a panic.

Derek Hale _rang_ the _doorbell_ , Stiles muses, staring at the heavy oak door like he’s the victim in a B-rated horror film.

Stiles pulls the door open and Derek is standing on his front steps looking several shades of out of place.

“Hey!” Stiles replies, it sounds too friendly and Derek gives him a questioning look as he nods and returns the greeting. Stiles pushes the screen door open and waves him inside. Derek brushes past him and Stiles catches the scent of soap. He tries not to panic.

Derek is wearing his usual achromatic color palette, but he catches the edge of a bright red t-shirt beneath the charcoal gray sweater he is wearing. Stiles doesn’t remember seeing the sweater before and he wonders what that means, and then he also wonders when he apparently memorized Derek Hale’s wardrobe.

Derek is looking at him funny again and Stiles tries to smile in a way that doesn’t betray his lunacy. He motions towards the kitchen and Derek follows him.

“Dinner’ll be ready in about twenty,” Stiles tells him, standing by the oven and fiddling. Derek just nods and leans against the counter, watching him. Stiles busies himself with dumping copious amounts of cheeses over the noodles and chicken before shoving the dish into the oven, he fumbles and his hand brushes the hot stove and he yelps. The oven door slams shut and Stiles jumps. He turns around and brings his thumb up to his tongue, wincing.

“Are you okay?” Derek asks, staring at Stiles like he’s embarrassed for him, it’s a look he’s seen on Scott’s face numerous times…and his father’s if he’s being totally honest with himself. Stiles just scrunches up his face in what he hopes is a casual nonchalance, like his finger isn’t _throbbing_ and Derek can probably _hear it_.

“Bread?!” Stiles shouts, grabbing the bread basket distractedly and whipping around to offer it to Derek, but Stiles never put the napkin over the top like he’d thought and several fly out of the container and pelt towards the other side of the kitchen and Derek. 

Stiles doesn’t even try to look nonchalant, in fact he doesn’t think his expression changes in the slightest from the one of dopey hopefulness in an attempt at offerings of rolls. Derek doesn’t so much as _twitch._

“Maybe not,” Stiles decides and he turns back around in one fluid motion, wondering if it he could just crawl into the oven. He’s acutely aware of the fact that his heart is _pounding_.

“Stiles are—“ Derek starts but Stiles cuts him off with a hurried,

“I should go get soda! We could drink soda or you could have beer because you are old but I am not so I should get some soda, I’ll be right back!” He actually waves at Derek before he turns and stalks out into the garage. He paces back and forth in front of the cans of soda for as long as he can before he figures Derek will grow suspicious, but he doesn’t actually think Derek would be surprised if he just left the house, or state, or country…

When he gets back to the kitchen Derek is looking at him in that way he has where he manages to look both concerned and sultry. He places the cans on the counter and turns to look at Derek. He can do this, definitely. He’s faced down death he can face down this.

Except actually apparently he _can’t_ and even when he opens his mouth the timer on the oven beeps and he snaps it shut.

“I’ll…you can go sit down,” Stiles offers. Derek just sort of nods and moves to walk past him, into the dining room. He stops in front of Stiles whose backed against the counter. He has no idea what Derek is doing as he steps quietly over the line of personal boundary. Then he’s pushing something against Stiles’ chest and Stiles reaches his hands up to grasp it, fumbling. When he looks down he realizes they’re the oven mitts he neglected earlier and he looks back up in time to catch Derek smirking at him a bit before he disappears into the dining room.

As soon as Derek’s back is turned Stiles lets his knees go a bit weak and he mouths “ _Oh my_ GOD _”_ as he stumbles over to the oven.

~*~

Dinner is awkward.

Like _awkward_.

Like that one time Scott told him about his first Argent family fest except a thousand times worse because Stiles still isn’t even sure if this is actually a _date_. Stiles knew his first date would be uncomfortable but he never really prepared himself for not knowing if he was actually on it or not.

In retrospect he thinks he probably should have, he’s been in a fictitious relationship with the same girl for nearly a decade. Stiles reasons it’s probably rude to be thinking of the girl you thought you were in love with on a date with a man.

_Man._

And Derek _is_ a man, like he’s not just some teenager he picked up in the boy’s locker room at school, but like he drives an expensive car and is legal drinking age and probably knows how to do taxes and stuff. But then Stiles reasons he actually probably doesn’t even _pay_ taxes.

“Are you okay Stiles?” Derek is asking him from across the table. Stiles snaps back to reality and nods a bit overly zealous.

“Yeah, I’m fine!” He shoves a forkful of pasta into his mouth and smiles through the searing heat of it.

Derek doesn’t look much convinced. Stiles watches him nervously, wondering if the mac & cheese is okay. He knows he’s got the recipe down, Scott has a tendency to eat it by the bucketful, especially lately, but he’s still nervous about it.

Derek swallows and catches Stiles staring. He seems to consider Stiles for a moment before he’s swiping a napkin across his mouth and darting a look down before holding his gaze.

“It’s really good Stiles, thanks,” he offers. Stiles can’t help the grin that splits his face and Derek’s eyes widen a bit and Stiles thinks his face goes a little red and his own jaw drops.

 _Oh God_ , Stiles balks, _I think this is a date_.

And now that Stiles is actually entertaining the possibility that this could in fact be an honest to God _date_ he starts panicking.

 _What if he’s expecting something…oh God…what if he wants…_ but then Stiles actually laughs. Out loud. Derek practically gets whiplash looking up from his plate at him. Stiles wonders if he should try for nonchalance again.

“Seriously Stiles, are you alright?” Derek asks, dropping his fork. Stiles ducks his head, rubbing at it with his palm, embarrassed, before giving Derek the universal sign for ‘a-okay!’

He shovels more food into his mouth to keep from having to answer any more questions. There’s an awkward silence that grows steadily worse and worse. The only sound in the room is the scraping of fork over ceramic.

It’s painful and Stiles has really made an art out of filling it.

“So, maimed anything good lately?” He asks and then immediately wants to brain himself with the vase on the middle of the table.

“Well Tuesday I ran over a couple of hipsters on my way to Starbucks, but other than that I’ve been pretty good,” Derek deadpans. Stiles huffs out a breathy laugh and relaxes into his chair.

“Do you actually go to Starbucks?” Stiles asks, struck suddenly with the image of Derek casually ordering a tall latte, Stiles’ head barista asks if he wants cream and fictional Derek wolfs out and with a raspy growl requests the blood of his enemies.

Stiles tries not to laugh. Derek is watching him curiously, his own mouth mirroring Stiles.

“I like their hot chocolate,” Derek shrugs, scooping up the last bite on his plate. Stiles just sort of stares at him speculatively, wondering if he’s being bull shitted.

He doesn’t think so.

“Huh,” he muses, smiling down at his own empty plate before looking up. Derek is watching him. He flushes, his pulse quickening and looks away.

“I should clean up now,” Stiles says, pushing his chair back and standing. Like finding out Derek Hale drinks hot cocoa is really enough life sharing for one evening.

“Let me help,” Derek offers, standing.

“No, it’s good, I got it,” Stiles says, grabbing his plate and bolting to the kitchen. He rinses the plates and busies himself putting them away in the dishwasher. When he turns around, Derek is spooning left overs into a Tupperware container.

“How…” Stiles questions.

“I found them when I was looking for the oven mitts,” Derek explains, ignoring Stiles’ incredulous look. “Why do people act like I’m from the middle ages…” he scowls.

“Cos you’re so old,” Stiles offers, helpfully. Derek rolls his eyes and thrusts the readymade container at him.

“Did you want a smaller one for your dad?” Derek asks, and Stiles nearly fumbles the container.

“Y-yeah,” he says. He doesn’t ask how he knew because it’s a pretty easy deduction to make he guesses. But it still surprises him, and he watches as Derek spoons the rest of the pan of noodles into another container. “Thanks.”

Derek shrugs again. When the kitchen is clean Stiles feels awkward again. Derek is looking at him, and Stiles remembers he’s the host and is probably in charge of activities. He’s not sure what activities are involved in debatable dates.

He thinks about hinting that he has a lot of homework but even as the excuse forms in his head he dismisses it easily. He doesn’t actually _want_ Derek to leave.

“Do you wanna watch a movie?” Stiles asks, nervously. He thinks Derek is going to shrug again, or make some other non-committal move but he actually smiles kind of shyly and nods.

“Yeah.” Stiles shares the grin and turns kicking his shoes off by the door. He watches Derek toe out of his boots as they make their way into the family room. Stiles tries not to book it to the couch first but he has no idea how far apart he should be sitting from Derek, here, and he doesn’t want to make the wrong decision.

He thinks it’d be pretty awkward to cuddle a guy who’s just trying to get a little free pasta.

Stiles collapses against the couch, snatching the remote up from the coffee table. Derek makes his way over kind of slowly like he’s trying to figure something out.

 _Ha_ , Stiles thinks to himself. But then Derek is falling against the couch right beside him. There’s still a good foot of space on the other side of Derek, but his thigh is nearly brushing Stiles’.

 _Oh God_. He’s pretty certain now he’s on a date with Derek Hale.

It takes him three tries to get the tv and the cable box on at the same time. Derek is watching him with this look on his face like he knows what’s wrong with him and he’s fucking _enjoying_ it.

“Whatdowannwatch?” Stiles tries, it’s a really noble effort but just as he opens his mouth Derek wriggles his hips to get settled and throws his arm over the back of the couch and the scent of him mixed with deodorant and shampoo hits Stiles in the face, and he’s never really thought so much about actually wanting to sniff someone’s arm pit before now, but he chalks it up to wolfishnesss by association.  

Must be it.

“What?” Derek is asking.

“Movie? Preference?” Stiles reiterates. Derek shrugs again.

“Do you have one?”

“Horror.” Stiles finds himself saying. “We can make fun of the inaccuracies.” But mostly Stiles has seen way too many teen romances and he’s pretty sure this is how awkward people go about seducing manly men.

Derek doesn’t argue so he queues up Silent Hill from Netflix and reaches over to switch the lights off. He settles back against the couch, bumps awkwardly into Derek’s arm and wiggles unsure. Derek’s hand comes up to grasp his shoulder and pull him back against the couch and Stiles settles against his arm.

He’s seen this movie at least three times, but it’s one of the few movies that leaves him listing all the reasons it could never happen to him and taking a running leap into his bed in the dark. Stiles thinks fighting monsters on a regular basis would give him a stronger backbone against video games turned movie.

It really hasn’t.

By the time the alarm sounds first Stiles can feel his heart rate pick up and he does his best not to actually cover his eyes. Derek is silent still beside him.

When they get to the bathroom scene though, Stiles actually just shakes his head and says out loud.

“Nope.” He hears Derek laugh beside him and then his arm is coming up to curl Stiles up in his grip. His shoulder is wedged beneath Derek’s armpit and his face is forcefully buried in Derek’s chest. Stiles can’t help the grin as he closes his eyes, clutches at Derek’s sweater and _breathes._

 _Oh yeah_ , he thinks, _Definitely a date_.

Even when the scene is over, Derek only loosens his grip. Stiles shifts on the couch, sliding lower to relax against the solid weight of Derek’s body and turning to see the television properly. They stay like that until the credits are rolling and the Netflix menu appears. Neither of them actually moves though.

He feels Derek’s hand sliding into his hair, his fingers curling into the short strands. Stiles is due for a haircut soon. He thinks maybe he might grow it out. Stiles’ heart starts thumping, his own arm moving to steady himself, his palm splayed against Derek’s chest as he pushes himself up. Derek lets him but he doesn’t drop his hand.

Stiles just kind of freezes then because it occurs to him he actually has no idea what he’s doing, and he’s kind of hoping Derek will get the hint or something soon because that whole roll fiasco was actually all the game he possesses. They’re so close now and Stiles is pretty sure Derek can smell the buffalo sauce on his breath and it makes him self-conscious and he considers aborting this mission altogether when Derek’s hand that has been massaging his scalp drags him firmly, but not forcefully, forward.

And then their lips are touching and it occurs to Stiles that that’s called kissing. What he’s doing right now is kissing. Stiles’ hands clench the fabric of Derek’s sweater, one fisted into his chest and the other hanging on to his side. Derek’s other hand has come up to rest against the other, Stiles’ head cradled in the span of his large palms.

Stiles moans softly as his mouth falls open against Derek’s persistent tongue, and he feels the sharp points of Derek’s second teeth descend just slightly at the sound. It elicits another whimper of pleasure from Stiles. Derek pulls back for a fraction of a second as Stiles changes the angle of his head slightly and kisses him again.

Stiles’ heart is pounding rapidly against his chest as his cock hardens in his jeans. He pulls himself up slightly, and his leg moves to wrap around Derek’s knee. He wants suddenly, desperately, to straddle Derek’s lap. He goes to swing himself up but Derek is maneuvering a hand to his chest and keeping him at bay.

Stiles whines as Derek pulls back, their breath huffing between them. Derek’s pupils are dilated and his lips are swollen and spit soaked.

Stiles thinks if he thinks hard enough about that image he might pee his pants.

Which would be difficult given the state of his erection. No, he thinks it far more likely one stray touch and he’ll be coming in an embarrassing display of his teenage virginity.

“Derek?” Stiles pants, staring at him, like he’s asking for confirmation that this isn’t some clone, or doppelganger or hallucination.

“Stiles,” Derek answers. It’s not really much of an answer actually cos Stiles _knows_ he’s Stiles.

“What’s happening?” Derek’s mouth turns up in a smile. It feels like a secret and Stiles shares it.

“I’ve seen your internet history, Stiles, I thought you were the clever one?” Derek laughs. Stiles doesn’t want to really think about whether that’s a joke or not, because…well because he’s kind of eclectic when it comes to that sort of thing.

Stiles laughs a little desperately and tries to sit up, shaking his head. “I just mean…when I pictured how my first kiss would go down I’ve really been prepping mentally for a five foot three redhead with passion fruit lipstick not…six feet of brooding eyebrows.” When Stiles says it Derek’s eyebrows furrow and Stiles actually laughs really hard and brings his hand up to press his fingers across one. Derek is just sort of looking at him curiously.

“I was your first kiss?” Derek asks, Stiles can’t read the expression on his face but he thinks he sees a flash of red in Derek’s eyes. Stiles cock twitches with interest.

Stiles move his hand down from Derek’s brow until he’s cupping Derek’s jaw softly and pulling him in for another bruising kiss.

“Can we-“ Stiles starts before Derek cuts him off with a slow kiss, “—go upstairs?” Stiles finishes breathlessly. He pulls back to look Derek in the eye.

“I can’t, Stiles,” Derek says, voice low and apologetic.

“It’s really close, just…” Stiles waves a hand in the direction of the stairs, drunk on the feel of Derek, solid beneath him. Derek kisses him again and Stiles forgets what he was saying. When he pulls away he remembers, and he slides his hand down to grasp at Derek’s crotch. He’s aiming for Derek’s dick, obviously, but he _misses_ and he gropes for it, cheeks burning from something other than arousal.

“No further explanation required,” Stiles says, pulling away. Derek tries not to laugh as he pulls him back.

“Just not tonight,” Derek huffs out against his lips. Stiles nods.

“Could we keep making out though?” Stiles asks, but he’s already raising both his arms to hook around Derek’s neck and pulling him down on top of himself, moving to lay stretched out across the small sofa. Derek obliges, maneuvering them until he’s only half atop Stiles as they curl together kissing.

“Ah,” Stiles gasps, _and there it is_ , he thinks feeling Derek’s cock twitching against his thigh.

They kiss in the glow of the tv screen until both their lips are chapped and they hear the sound of the garage door announcing the Sheriff’s late arrival. Derek kisses him one more time on the front stoop as he pulls his jacket on.

“Derek?” Stiles asks as Derek pulls away, and Derek pauses and looks back at him, fixing his leather collar. “Whipped cream?” Stiles asks. Derek’s brow furrows.

“What?”

“On your hot chocolate,” Stiles clarifies, “do you get whipped cream?” He’s not sure what makes him ask, only that it seems important he should know. Derek’s face just splits into a wide grin and Stiles can see his tongue licking at the back of his teeth. Derek doesn’t answer.


End file.
